Page 82 of All These Beautiful Strangers

“Come on, just admit it,” he went on. “You’ve tapped that.”

Teddy shrugged. He was laughing. I could tell by the way his shoulders shook, even though I couldn’t see his face.

“I plead the fifth,” Teddy said.

Witnessing Teddy divulge one of the most intimate details of our relationship to this gangly freckled boy and his other friends made me feel sick. And the fact that it was all some kind of joke, some kind of game.

Nick raised Teddy’s arm triumphantly in the air. “I declare a winner.”

“We’re not worthy, oh great one,” the gangly freckled boy said, giving Teddy a mocking half bow.

As I stood there, willing myself to leave but unable to move, Teddy turned and saw me.

The expression on my face must have told him everything I couldn’t say, because his smile faltered, and all his color drained away.

“Grace,” he said.

I turned and walked quickly away from him, stumbling slightly as my heels poked into the grass. He chased after me and grabbed me by the arm, forcing me to stop.

I saw his friends a few paces back, still standing in their half circle, looking at us.

“Don’t touch me,” I said. I tried to tug my arm out of Teddy’s grasp, but his grip only tightened. His fingers dug into my forearm, sharp and bony. I winced.

“Grace, just let me explain,” he said, as if he had the words to make things right, to put us back together. But he couldn’t possibly. Those words didn’t exist.

“I said, get your hands off me,” I repeated.

“I don’t know what you heard,” Teddy said, glancing back at his friends and then lowering his voice. “But don’t listen to those idiots. They were just dicking around. They’re jerks. They didn’t mean anything.”

“No, I didn’t mean anything,” I said. “I was just—what? Some kind of joke to you? A stupid game?”

“No,” Teddy said vehemently. “That’s not true. You weren’t—it wasn’t.” He stopped and took a deep breath. He looked at me so earnestly it hurt. “It was real. You and me. I swear to you it’s real. Grace, I love you.”

I did it just like Hank had taught me in the backyard when I was ten. Knuckles clenched, thumb on the outside, weight on my back foot, and then I threw it forward, right into his face. My fist sang with the impact. I heard the wind go out of him; he released me instantly and doubled forward.

“Fuck,” Teddy said, clutching his nose. “Fuck.”

I didn’t wait to see if he was all right. I just turned and ran.

I could barely see straight. As I rounded the corner of the nearest building, I ran straight into someone, hard. I felt the hot, sharp pain of my ankle twisting in the strap of my heel as I fell, and then someone reached out to steady me.

“Whoa there, you all right?” the man asked.

When I looked up, I saw that it was Alistair. We seemed to recognize each other at the same time. I saw the way his face lit up from within, that flicker of light in his eyes. “I was just coming to find you,” he said.

And then he seemed to register the emotion in my eyes, and his face clouded over.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I hardly knew how to answer that question.

“It wasn’t real,” I said. “None of it was real.”

I knew I was babbling but I couldn’t stop.

I grabbed my ankle, which stung, and then slowly stood and shifted my weight to it. It was fine. I’d only twisted it—I could walk.

I heard my name in the distance, and I looked back over my shoulder. It was Teddy, trying to figure out which way I had gone. There was blood on the collar of his shirt. I had busted his nose.